Silver Tongues
by Maraja
Summary: 'See, the thing is, Potter, there's this fierce desire to prove yourself that casts a bit of a shadow over the rest of what's going on in this head of yours, and I can tell which house would help you achieve that goal best. Seeing as I am in the business of sorting and not being swayed by the wishes of every child to place me on their head...' Slytherin!Harry.


_Not Slytherin… Not Slytherin…_

"Not Slytherin, eh? It's all here in your head, you know… Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that…"

Harry's grip on the stool tightened. _Not Slytherin_ he thought with growing urgency.

"Hmmm… See, the thing is, Potter, there's this fierce desire to prove yourself that casts a bit of a shadow over the rest of what's going on in this head of yours, and I can tell which house would help you achieve that goal best. Seeing as I am in the business of sorting and not being swayed by the wishes of every child to place me on their head—"

Please no, Harry thought, his heart fluttering with panic.

"Better be—"

Wait!

"SLYTHERIN!"

The last word was shouted for the entire hall to hear. The hat was removed from his head before Harry could wipe the look of horror from his face.

Silence. Harry was frozen to the stool as he looked out at the Great Hall, students either staring at him in surprise or whispering to each other in hushed voices. Harry couldn't tell if their soft murmurings were pleasant or not.

A touch on his shoulder caused him to jump so badly that Harry nearly fell from the stool. McGonagall smiled down at him in way he figured was meant to be reassuring but which looked very forced. "Please join your new House table, Mr. Potter," she said quietly.

Harry nodded and slid from the stool. His legs were shaking. His palms were sweaty and his glasses almost fell from his face when his feet hit the floor.

He had just adjusted them back on the brim of his nose when the applause broke out.

It was such a delayed response that it frightened Harry more than the silence had. The clapping began at the Slytherin table, and then was slowly if deliberately echoed politely by the rest. Harry glanced towards the Gryffindor table where he caught sight of the red-headed twins who had helped him with his trunk. They looked very disappointed and each clapped only once before dropping their hands.

The same lackluster response could not be said for the Slytherins, though. Their cheers only escalated, loud and raucous now that they seemed to have recovered from the shock that yes, the Sorting Hat had indeed shouted Slytherin.

Harry walked to the table with a sense of dread in his heart. It wasn't the belatedly warm welcome that made him so wary—as much as he had not wanted to be in this House where all the dark wizards came from, he supposed he'd rather be accepted by his future peers than instantly snubbed—but one face in particular which made him internally cringe.

Draco Malfoy was grinning from ear to ear, but his expression was anything but kind.

There were only two empty chairs at the end of the table. One was next to Draco Malfoy. One was across from him.

Harry would not be able to escape him.

Feeling that he might as well put as much space between himself at the boy he had already insulted as he could, Harry chose the seat across from him. He tried to put on a brave face, hiding his slightly trembling hands beneath the table. The students on either side of him—a boy whom Harry thought was called Nott and a girl with blonde hair whose name he couldn't recall—shifted away from him slightly. They and everyone else were giving him very curious looks, and Harry was uncertain if they were as pleased with his sorting as their loud applause might have indicated. Their expressions were pensive, slightly judgmental. Harry felt like he had just been dropped in to a literal snake pit, and the serpents within were merely observing, contemplating whether their newest addition would make a nice meal or not.

Harry pretended not to notice.

Malfoy alone was smiling maliciously. His gray eyes were gleaming, fixed on Harry even as the sorting continued. Harry resolutely looked away. He could see the High Table properly, now. At the furthest end was Hagrid, who was visibly very forlorn. Harry was sure he looked equally devastated, and when Hagrid failed to even attempt to smile at him or give any form of reassurance, Harry tore his eyes away from the giant man who had saved him from the Dursleys.

He felt like he had just let Hagrid down stupendously.

His focus then drifted to the man in the center of the table. Harry recognized Albus Dumbledore from the chocolate frog card he'd gotten on the train. His silver hair and beard were so bright they were practically glowing, and his half-moons spectacles gleamed with the reflections of the floating candles. His attention, unlike everyone else's, had already returned to where the currently empty stool sat, waiting for the next student to be sorted.

Then Harry caught sight of the only other person at the High Table that he recognized. It was Professor Quirrell, the nervous man he'd met at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry started when he looked at him, because even though many people in the hall were still staring at Harry Potter, the newest Slytherin, locking eyes with Quirrell caused the strangest sensation.

It was so fleeting that Harry would later wonder if he had imagined it altogether. A brief but sharp pain in his scar. Harry's breath caught when it happened, but even before he could think to put his hand on his forehead, it was gone.

Quirrell looked away.

Harry's heart was racing as the majority of the Hall's focus once more shifted to the Sorting Hat. 'Thomas, Dean' became a Gryffindor and shortly afterwards 'Turpin, Lisa' a Ravenclaw.

Then it was Ron's turn.

The boy that was the closest thing to what Harry had ever considered a friend approached the stool. His skin was a worrisome shade of green. Ron locked eyes with Harry for a fraction of a second before the hat was placed over his head, falling over his brow. Harry crossed his fingers under the table.

He knew that Ron did not want to be in Slytherin… but Harry couldn't help but hope that maybe Ron would be in his house as well. He felt surrounded as it was, and if Ron were at least with him, he would not be completely alone…

He was just about to start repeating the opposite of the mental mantra he'd chorused a few moments ago _—Say Slytherin! Say Slytherin!—_ when his hopes were dashed before they could properly form.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry's heart sank. Even though he refused to look at him, Harry swore he could feel Malfoy's sense of glee that Ron would be joining the rest of his family in Gryffindor. Harry clapped with about as much enthusiasm as the rest of his new house as Ron stumbled towards the Gryffindor table. He didn't try and make eye contact with Harry again before he went.

Then the very last student, a boy named 'Zabini, Blaise' was made a Slytherin. He was tall and dark, and once the hat was taken from his head he approached them with a sort of elegance that Harry did not notice in any of the other first years. He took the last vacant seat next to Draco, who deigned him with a quick, mildly interested look before returning his attention to Harry.

Albus Dumbledore stood. He beamed, his arms held out wide on either side of him and exposing his bright magenta robes which were dotted in golden stars. "Welcome!" he shouted, looking like he would like nothing more than to embrace them all. "Welcome to our new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He paused. "…Thank you!"

He sat back down. Most of the Hall clapped and cheered, and Harry supposed he might have found that funny if he wasn't currently so distraught.

The dark boy next to Malfoy scoffed. "Mad old man,", he muttered under his breath. Draco's focus left Harry again to give him a slightly more approving look, but he didn't say anything and returned his gleaming, gray eyes to Harry nearly at once.

Just then, the golden plates before them filled with food. Harry was momentarily distracted completely as he stared in awe—never before had he seen so many different kinds of food in one place: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon, and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys did not exactly starve Harry, but he never got to eat as much as he wanted. If there was ever anything he really wanted, Dudley would always steal it from him, even if it was something his greedy cousin didn't like. Under normal circumstances, Harry was certain he would be piling his plate with food.

As it was, his stomach coiled uncomfortably at the sight. He did not feel even slightly hungry.

"Well, well, _well."_

Harry's jaw tensed at Draco finally said something. He spoke in a slow and deliberate tone as he helped himself to some potatoes, but it was obvious that he was just bursting at the seams, anxious to gloat. "Look who's been sorting into Slytherin house," he said, setting the potatoes back down and pouring himself a goblet full of pumpkin juice. "Bet you're wishing you had been a bit more respectful before, hm? I don't see any _Weasleys_ here."

Harry glared, but Draco's words had a profound effect. He was right, of course. Unless there was some policy in place where Harry could request to be resorted—and he doubted there was—he was stuck here. In Slytherin. With Draco Malfoy.

For _seven_ years.

"What did he do?" the boy named Zabini asked. His question was directed at Malfoy, but he was looking at Harry when he spoke. His dark gaze flickered from Harry's scar to his eyes. Harry had to resist the urge to try flattening his hair over his forehead.

"He rejected my very kind and generous offer of friendship and guidance," said Draco, jutting his chin out. "I went to his compartment on the train to introduce myself."

"You told me you could help me learn what wizarding families were the 'right sort'. Then you tried to steal our food and ran away when your friend got bit by a rat," Harry said coldly.

Goyle, who as sitting on Draco's other side and eating some roast beef with gusto, turned red and glowered at him. "I didn' do nuffin—"

"Goyle, swallow your food before you speak, that's revolting," Draco snapped at once. Goyle glared at Draco, but, surprisingly enough, seemed to listen to the much smaller blonde. He remained silent and chose to go back to eating.

"Is that all?" Zabini said. He gave Malfoy an unimpressed look. "Well, I probably wouldn't want to be friends with someone who stormed into my compartment trying to tell me who to talk to either. Especially if they tried to steal my things."

He gave Harry a small smile. Harry felt a rush of affection towards this boy he didn't know. "And who are you again?" Draco sneered. " _Zabini?_ Never heard that name before."

"That's because it's Italian. It's not on your little list of Sacred Twenty-Eight because it's not British. But my mother's maiden name is Shafiq, if that matters to you."

Evidently, it did matter to Draco Malfoy. His brows raised slightly in shock. Zabini ignored him. "My name is Blaise," he said, offering his hand to Harry. "Blaise Zabini."

Harry grinned and shook it. "Harry Potter," he said. Draco watched the interaction with huge eyes. His baffled expression quickly became sour, and Harry was sure he was thinking of something to say to steer the conversation back to himself and how important he was.

Before he could come up with something, however, the girl on Harry's right side spoke. "My great-aunt was a Shafiq before she married into the Shacklebolt family," she said smartly, tossing her long, blonde hair over one shoulder.

"So you two are related?" Harry looked back and forth between the two. Physically, they could not have looked more different, but they both had an air of sophistication about them that Harry thought was similar.

"Oh, yes, but nearly all the pureblood families are. If we were to look at an extended family tree, we would all be linked in some manner by either blood or marriage. Including you, obviously, as your father was a pureblood wizard." The girl smiled at him and offered her hand as well. She had pale skin and deep blue eyes. "I'm Daphne Greengrass," she said. "A pleasure."

Harry smiled and shook it, and it was incredibly satisfying, the way Draco was ogling at how two of his peers had now succeeded in shaking Harry's hand where he, Draco Malfoy, had so spectacularly failed.

"Nice to meet you. And, er—sorry, but… What is a pureblood?"

Everyone within earshot stopped what they were doing. Forks hovered in midair, goblets froze as they were being raised. Even Crabbe, who had been eating with more fervor than his equally large classmate, froze.

Harry immediately regretted asking. Daphne looked shocked as well, and just when the silence was about to become unbearable… she started laughing.

Her reaction was instantly repeated by nearly everyone else. A girl with dark hair and a face that was oddly reminiscent of a pug even snorted. "Oh, he's funny!" Daphne exclaimed, one hand flying to her chest. "And they say famous people don't have a sense of humor!"

Harry never felt stupider than in that moment. He laughed very nervously, quickly hiding his blushing face behind his goblet as he went to take a drink—only realizing once he had it to his lips that it was empty, because he'd never poured himself anything. He set it back down, feeling idiotic and flustered.

Draco noticed. He had only barely cracked a smile before his expression slid into something almost predatory. "He's not joking," he said quietly, and the laughter fizzled out. "You really don't know what a pureblood is, do you, Potter?"

The other students all looked at him questionably, even Zabini. Harry's face was bright red. Draco grinned at his silence, looking confident and vindictive once more. "Merlin, were you raised by ignorant muggles or something?" he said, laughing.

The very fact that he had said it sarcastically made Harry's face burn twice as hot. Malfoy clearly expected Harry to be offended, to retort something along the lines of, 'No, of course not, don't be ridiculous!'

He couldn't. Harry sat there and couldn't say anything, not even an attempt at a lie. He knew that if he did he would surely be found out, and that could only make matters worse for him… if such a thing were possible.

The haughty grin slid from Malfoy's face when Harry continued to say nothing in his own defense. "Were you raised by muggles?" he asked again, this time in a very hushed voice. "Did you not know anything before you—before you got your Hogwarts letter, like some lowlife _mudblood?"_

Harry did not know what a mudblood was, but he was certain by the context that it was not good. He felt like giving an honest answer was damning him in some way, but he couldn't think of another option besides telling the truth. "Yes," he admitted quietly, staring down at his empty goblet.

There was a much longer moment of stunned silence.

"…But you're Harry Potter!" the girl with the pug-like face shouted shrilly, shattering the spell of quietness. Even people from the next table over looked round in surprise, and Harry thought he might melt he was so hot with embarrassment.

"Keep your voice down, Pansy!" Zabini chided. He looked to Harry apologetically. "Pany Parkinson, you're positively charmed, I'm sure," he drawled, motioned flippantly towards the dark-haired girl as an introduction. Evidently, the two of them had already met.

Pansy glared and opened her mouth to say something, but Blaise continued before she could. "You were seriously raised by muggles? Muggles who never told you anything?" he asked. He didn't sound hostile with his questions, only genuinely curious. Harry nodded mutely, and Blaise let out a low, long whistle. "Wow. I remember hearing all the speculations that you might have been hidden somewhere in the muggle world for your protection, but everyone assumed that Dumbledore was keeping in contact with you, raising you so that you knew about magic and agreed with his narrow-minded ideals…"

"I've never talked to Dumbledore in my life," Harry mumbled.

"Is that so?"

Draco had regained his leering disposition quickly enough. He grabbed Harry's empty goblet and began filling it with pumpkin juice as he spoke. "You know, Potter, as absolutely ridiculous as it is that you were raised by muggles—" he spat the word and handed Harry's now full goblet to him—"that could very well be a blessing in disguise. You're a blank slate, a clean canvas. My offer still stands. I could teach you everything you need to know about the wizarding world. My father is very well connected, always popping in and out of the Ministry, and—"

"Your father's not the only important wizard in the world, Malfoy," Blaise interrupted. "My mother is on a first name basis with every prominent wizard in magical Britain, including the Minister himself."

"Well my father is a member of the Wizengamot, so he doesn't need to be connected to other influential witches and wizards. He is one," said Daphne.

"Under _Dumbledore_ , the current Chief Warlock," Draco drawled.

"For now."

Harry's head was swimming. He was getting the distinct impression that they were all trying very hard to impress him, but seeing as he had no idea what it was they were talking about, they were not exactly succeeding.

An interruption came in the form of something ominous and absolutely terrifying.

They'd seen the plethora of ghosts which had floated into the castle hall before the sorting, but this was a phantom Harry had most certainly missed. This transient man had a gaunt face, hollow eyes, and was covered in silver blood and many heavy looking chains. He hovered into view behind Malfoy, who immediately paled at his arrival.

"The newest members of Slytherin House," he said in a voice that suited him very well—it was low, gravelly, and perfectly haunting. His vacant gaze went around the table to each of the first-years, settling lastly on Harry. "…Welcome. I am the Bloody Baron, the ghost of Slytherin's dungeons… My noble house has not lost the cup signifying its glory for many, many years… I hope that this class will not cause our winning streak to come to an _unfortunate_ end…"

Harry swallowed thickly. He was pleased to see that Draco had actually shuddered at the ghost's tone.

No one said anything in response to the Bloody Baron's welcome which was really more of a warning. He smiled in a frightening way. "Behave yourselves," he said. The Baron then floated away, leaving them all slightly shaken.

It took a long time for the feeling of iciness that had descended upon them to dissipate. Harry, who was desperate for something to do with his hands, helped himself to some carrots in the silence and was now prodding one with his fork. It was a shame he did not have an appetite—the food really did look delicious.

He turned his attention once more to the High Table. Quirrell was now facing away from him, his absurd, purple turban nearly blocking out the man he was speaking to entirely. The other man was a professor with dark, lank hair and a hooked nose. He looked past his turban and straight into Harry's eyes—and then it happened again.

A sharp, searing pain shot across his forehead. This time, Harry shouted "Ouch!" and clapped a hand to his forehead. Everyone looked at him in confusion.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked first.

"N-nothing," Harry said, quickly lowering his hand. The dark-haired man had already turned his attention away from him, back to Quirrell. Harry's pulse was racing again—was every professor going to make his head hurt? "Er—who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"

"Oh, that Professor Snape!" Daphne answered cheerfully. "He's our head of house."

"He's also my godfather," Draco said, looking very much like he thought this was impressive and that everyone should agree. "He's an incredibly intelligent wizard. My father thinks he should be Headmaster, and of course I agree. He can be very intimidating if he doesn't like you, though. Look how nervous Quirrell is just talking to him! Course, that's because Snape wants his job—should have it, too. Why Dumbledore would give the Defense Against the Dark Arts position to someone as pathetic as Quirrell is beyond me. Snape is far more knowledgeable."

"What does he teach, then?" Harry asked. He did not look at Snape again.

"Potions. He's an excellent potions maker too, but the Dark Arts is where he really knows his stuff. He's even taught me a few hexes."

"Bollocks," Zabini said at once. "I doubt he'd be stupid enough to go teaching an underage wizard dark magic, seeing as he basically lives under the crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore… and considering his history."

It was another reference Harry didn't understand, but there was an awful lot of insinuation in his words. It was clearly a very impactful statement, too, because even though Draco's eyes narrowed, he did not retort.

Either way, Harry was beginning to feel far more respect towards Zabini than anyone else at the table. Daphne Greengrass seemed nice enough too, he supposed, but the fact that Blaise was acting as unimpressed with Malfoy as Harry was made him grin at him approvingly.

Draco didn't miss their shared smile. He looked positively incensed. Obviously, this first meal was not going at all like he'd thought it would.

"What's the Wizer—Wizengamer?" Harry asked Daphne, deciding to start a new conversation before Malfoy could. The dinner food vanished, replaced by a plethora of deserts. Harry took some treacle tart that looked too good to ignore, feeling he might be able to eat something after all.

"Wizengamot," Daphne corrected kindly. "And it's magical Britain's High Court of Law, proceeding even the Ministry of Magic, dating back to the days of the Wizard's Council in medieval times. A member of the Greengrass family has had a seat for many years..."

Harry listened with rapt attention as she went on and on, though he was confused by nearly all of what she said. He thought he got the gist of it, though, and it was nice to listen to someone speak who only needed nods as prompts to keep going. It gave him the opportunity to eat his dessert, at least, and Draco's annoyed disposition at being ignored was just a bonus.

Eventually, the deserts vanished as well, and Dumbledore rose to his feet. Everyone immediately fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry's brows raised, unsure if he should laugh or not at such a ridiculous statement. "He's not serious?" he muttered to Zabini when no one else seemed to find this comment funny.

"Dumbledore's barmy, but he wouldn't make a joke like that," he answered darkly. "Odd… Usually he at least says why we aren't allowed somewhere… The forest is an obvious one; it's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that… but the third-floor corridor?"

Before they could speculate, Dumbledore's booming voice sounded throughout the hall, much louder than before. "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Harry noticed that the other professors' smiles suddenly looked very pained. Dumbledore gave a flick of his wand, and a golden ribbon flew out of it, hovering in the middle of the hall before twisting itself snakelike into words.

Harry thought it was a spectacular bit of magic, but his house mates did not share his enthusiasm. Daphne groaned at his side. Malfoy shook his head and Zabini pinched the bridge of his nose, looking highly annoyed already.

"Everyone pick your favorite tune," called Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Most but not all the school bellowed the words. Slytherin table was easily the one which participated in this chaos the least as the lyrics formed themselves in midair, Dumbledore conducting with vigor to those who sang.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please! Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees! Our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff, for now they're bare and full of air, dead flies and bits of fluff! So teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot! Just do your best, we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot."

Everyone ended at different times. The last to finish were the Weasley twins, who were singing a slow, funeral march type song. Harry's surrounding classmates all looked like they wanted to hex them, but Harry couldn't help but smile.

Dumbledore conducted them until they were done, and when they were finished he clapped the loudest of them all. "Ah, music," he said, wiping his eye beneath his half-moon glasses. "A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"Thank the gods," Zabini drawled as chattering erupted in the hall. "I thought it was never going to end!"

"First years to me!" a tall, blonde boy called. A girl who looked to be his age echoed his words, and Harry saw that they, like Percy Weasley, had shining badges on their chests… only their large P's were adorned with a silver serpent rather than a lion.

"We shall be leading you down to the Slytherin common room, giving you the password, and assigning you your dorms," the boy said loudly. "Follow us to the dungeons, please!"

Harry felt a thrill of trepidation. "The dungeons? Really?" he gawked. He had been half hoping that the Bloody Baron was just trying to scare them with that comment.

This did not seem to be the case. "Yeah. I've heard they're wicked," Zabini said eagerly as they began walking as a group.

Draco noticed Harry's apprehension and instantly seized the opportunity. "What's wrong, Potter? Don't like the idea of being in a big, scary dungeon? Are you afraid of the dark or something?"

Harry instantly bristled. "Of course not. I just… I dunno, expected something cozier, I guess."

"My mum said they're actually quite nice," Daphne chimed in. "The girls' dorms, at least. But I suppose the boys' must be nice too. I wonder how many dormmates we'll have…"

"It's usually five," said Pansy. "Oh, I hope we're together!"

The two girls grasped each other's hands like they were already the best of friends. Harry looked uneasily at Draco, the absolute opposite hope bubbling in his mind.

What were the odds that he would room with four other boys other than Draco Malfoy?

They descended a series of winding stone stairwells, and with every step Harry felt his anxiety grow. It became darker as they went further beneath the castle, where more and more torches along the wall became necessary to make the halls visible.

Finally, the prefects stopped beside what looked to be just another stone wall. "To enter the Slytherin dungeons, a password is required," the female prefect announced. "It changes every fortnight, and as prefects, we shall be informing you when this is the case. Under no circumstances are you to give the password to anyone outside of our House, nor bring anyone other than a Slytherin into our common room. The entrance is secret, the dungeons our ours… We don't want anyone mucking up the place." She smirked, and most of the first-years laughed. She then turned to the wall and confidently said, _"Gloriosum."_

Harry had already forgotten what she'd said when a section of the stone wall magically vanished, revealing a passageway through which they could comfortably walk. She and the male prefect entered, motioning for the first years to follow. Malfoy and his two giant friends went first. Harry hesitated, but when Zabini gave him a small smile he followed suit.

The Slytherin common room was extremely impressive, if a bit sinister. It was long, low, and adorned in round, greenish lamps that hung from chains from the ceiling. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and the space was filled with bookshelves, tables, and equally ornate chairs. On the far left side of the room there was another narrow corridor. Harry wondered where it led; it seemed to be glowing with an eerie, bluish-green tint.

"Girls with me, boys follow Rowle," the female prefect said. Daphne and Pansy gave them quick waves before following her, where all the first-year girls disappeared down yet another set of stairs.

"Right. This way," The Slytherin prefect Rowle said. They followed him towards a staircase opposite the one the girls had gone down.

"Alright—this room here is Goyle, Crabbe, Williams…"

Don't let me share a dorm with Malfoy, Harry thought as the prefect assigned their rooms. There were only fourteen Slytherin boys total, and five of them that did not include he or Malfoy were already gone. His odds were not great.

"This room here—Potter, Nott, Zabini…"

 _Not Malfoy,_ Harry thought ardently. _Not Malfoy, not—_

"Avery and Malfoy."

Harry barely stopped himself from groaning. Draco swaggered past him into their new room, where five beds covered in green sheets were positioned along the walls. Harry stared in unconcealed outrage that their things were already in the room. Their trunks had somehow been placed at the foot of their beds before their arrival… and Harry's was on the far right.

Draco plopped down on the bed next to it. Harry's worst fear was confirmed.

When the other boys each went to their assigned beds, Draco's gray eyes flickered to Harry. He looked even more smug than he had when Harry was first sorted as it became clear that Harry was going to be sleeping right next to him. "Well, Potter? Are you coming in or do you plan on spending the night in the hall?"

Harry begrudgingly entered the dorm room and closed the door behind him.

It was going to be a _long_ seven years.


End file.
